


Last Words

by D_Reagan_Fly



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Last words, Triple Agent, Ward regrets nothing, Ward was hiding some big secrets, and lot' s of pain, final will and testament, ward is complicated, ward questionable redemption, ward regrets everything, which leads to great conlfict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12503884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Reagan_Fly/pseuds/D_Reagan_Fly
Summary: Inspired from an idea I found in another fanfic--what if Grant Ward was a triple all along?-- and a series of unanswered questions the show gave us; What would that look like? If he was deceiving the team and everyone else about his deception? Can a specialist really fall apart like that so quickly? What happened to him being "the next Romanov?" What would it mean if Grant Ward was SHIELD for Fury all along? Also, what kind of motive does it take to make a specialist switch sides?





	1. Audio Recording

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, for all of you who have never read my work before, welcome! For those of you who follow my As The Red Sun Rises fanfiction, welcome home! :) You always have a place in my stories.
> 
> So I took some creative liberties with this and explored some unconventional ideas (examples: triple agent, doing horrible things for a "justified cause" , a specific specialist with cancer, and the point that Grant Ward was described as the "upcoming Romanov"by Fury himself...and he was pretty Bad-A in season one...but then he was revealed as the bad guy and started getting sloppy. May always beats him, and he emotionally combusts, makes mistakes, can't masterfully manipulate people any more ...
> 
> I'm still not convinced that's very realistic for the "next Romanov..." even if he's "the bad guy and the bad guy's can't win." Oh, Please. Let's be honest here. So I gave him some hindrances that might have explained why he was suddenly worse at his job... also why Coulson was able to kill him so easily...I know we love Coulson...or at least we used to...but Coulson isn't Bad-A in the rest of the show...hardly ever...so suddenly being able to beat Ward? Where did that come from!? Also, I get that he has a robotic hand...but it's a hand...not an arm...
> 
> Special note, I got the Triple Agent idea from Riley Holden's "A Spy like Me." on FF.net. Also, I don't own Agent's of SHIELD. If I did things would be different. Very different. I've got a couple bones to pick with the writers... So not stealing! Expanding. Exploring! The rest of the ides and concepts are mine :)
> 
> Sorry for the bitter resentment in my Author's note! That's not normal for me...but for Agents of SHIELD? Like I said. I've got some bones to pick.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -D.

There was a heavy sigh and static.

Silence.

One second...three...five...six-

Another sigh, then a worn out, rusty voice began in a hushed tone. Pained...a dying whisper of a breath…

"To whoever's listening to this...Fury you good for nothing-" There was a sharp intake of breath and a stilling. "Coulson...I… " Another pause, "If you're a stranger...er...a civilian and listening to this you should stop now and take this to your nearest law-enforcement agency...anyone who hears this is a liability. They will find you and they will kill you. So please. Don't listen any further. I know, curiosity killed the cat...but this will get you killed. Really.

So...umm...to whoever is out there deemed fit to listen. My name is Grant. Agent Grant Douglas Ward. My credit card and social security are both useless. Otherwise I'd tell you to knock yourself out. I'll be dead anyways…

Kay, starting over. Finding it hard to focus...probably the morphine...probably should stop taking that...but if I'm gonna die anyways…"

Another, bone-crushing sigh,

"My name is Agent Grant Ward. I'm working a deep cover operation within two world domineering agencies. SHIELD and HYDRA. End of the day, I'm SHIELD. But for now, I'm HYDRA...I'm working a double agent who is in fact a dual double...err...triple agent. I'm fighting against SHIELD to save them...or what they stand for...or what they used to...hard to tell the now…" sigh. "I've been corresponding directly to Director...err… Mr. Fury. Gosh that's strange. Until three months ago when communication dropped. I asked for an extraction...and was denied.

Fury, just for the record. I asked for an extraction because of the cancer. Not because I wanted to make amends with the team. I'd like a little credit, I'm not actually too stupid to know when I've been given up on. But I suppose you've given up on me too, huh? Think that the cancer probably made me less effective…?I bet you already have agents in place to replace me. Probably always did…" A heavy cough coerced the line into static again. "Still here."A dry chuckle. "Still a voice in the universe somewhere...when did I become so melodramatic? Anyways...triple agent...Fury...Coulson…

As a side note to the team. You will probably never hear this, but...I'm...I'm not sorry… I wish I was. I feel awful for what I did to you. I know it was wrong and it was a despicable betrayal...but I was trying to do the right thing...the only way I knew how. Not excusing...just explaining.-" Another coughing fit, this one more violent. When the voice returned it was more wan. A grating gasp that could barely be distinguished from the static. "Fury..or whoever hears this, I attached an encrypted file with a password only SHIELD will be able to hack. HYDRA if you get this message...than by all means try and hack it. You won't be able to. And if you just erase it...which would be your best option because I have everything on you in this from 15 years of HYDRA training and field experience and espionage- It has been saved and encrypted on a number of different servers so you won't be able to erase all of them.

I was supposed to have more...but the cancer was an unforeseen variable…" a dry chuckle, "SHIELD, HYDRA, Coulson, the team, Skye, Hill, you all question if I'm human...cancer doesn't. After all of this...everything I've survived, cancer" The laugh bordered hysteria, "Cancer is what finally kills me-" Another round of coughing. This one resulting in what sounded like violent retching.

"This is my final will and testament," The voice croaked back on. "I don't have much...but all of my funds-yes the one's that SHIELD froze-Fury, I want you to pull some strings and have it made out to Evelyn Palamas; Kara Palamas' mother. You owe me that much. There's also a book of letters, hidden under the floorboards of the Swiss safe house on 78th, I have letters in there for each of my team members. They can have the one's that are addressed to them. In a field in Massachusetts, twenty miles from the house I grew up in, there' s a lock box buried with a file for Thomas Ward, and no one else. Give him those instructions, he'll know the rest. And Fury or Coulson, whichever one of you gets this, the information attached in the encrypted file should be enough to give you an upper hand. A broader understanding of HYDRA at the very least. You're welcome." It was sarcastic and bitter. 'Thanks for using me and then feeding me to the wolves' was implied but left unsaid.

As for my crimes:

I plead guilty on the charges of first and second degree murders...specifically those of Agent Eric Keonig, Victoria Hand, Darrel Finn, Peter Gonzalez, Michael Harrison, and Ymi Shia. I also admit to arson, espionage, multiple assault and battery charges, theft, kidnapping, torture and manslaughter.

As stated earlier I regret my actions and take full responsibility for them, but can not apologize as I did them for SHIELD. "

More coughing, this time with an alarming amount of choking and wheezing.

"Here's what I have on HYDRA, or rather the specific people who once made up HYDRA. I've got names, and Psych Analysis's, relations, addresses, pictures, and more to..." Cough, "You should be able to track down most of the former HYDRA personnel, at least the dangerous one's, and most of the prisoners we, errr, HYDRA released from the Fridge...it's not as much as I'd been assigned...but I'm going to die within the week, either by the cancer or by Coulson..shouldn't be too difficult for him...my bones are brittling...is that a word? I broke a finger opening a can yesterday...so yeah...Coulson will probably kill me...I have to kill Rosalind Price. And Coulson loves her. But She's a double and her mission is to kill Coulson. Fury put me in position to keep Coulson, specifically, alive...I have to kill her. All the evidence for her motives and mine are also included in the file. So um...there's another guilty plea. Call it first degree again."

A heavy silence. Labored breathing. A full minute. Then finally,

"These are the last words of Grant Ward Agent of SHIELD. Coulson, you hypocritical..." Sigh, "Listen. I know after I take out Price you're going to find me and you're probably going to kill me. Slowly. You've been pushed too far. I know. Just...try and remember um..what you used to be, please. Remember Amador? Remember how you knew her so well, that you knew she couldn't really be a traitor? And the team came up with that insane plan to get the implant out of her eye? Or Skye, um, Daisy, when you gave her chance after chance after chance...when she first joined...or... kay the list goes on. Anyways you used to be the guy who gave people chances no matter what the circumstance looked like. And I know what I did was a personal betrayal...what I'm about to do is unforgivable...just...remember after you finish with me that that's not who you are. The world needs more people with unconditional...faith...grace...um... more people who give second chances, and third and fourth...I know that's you. I hope you remember that too...when all of this is over. When Fury hands HYDRA soldiers whose families were being held hostage, or were classically conditioned from fourteen years old up...just...don't forget...

And Fury...you're no better than HYDRA. Perhaps your ideals are better...but your practices are the same. I hope you remember all of those good agents I had to put down, to maintain cover, as well as I did." The voice was strangled, "Because now they died for half a job done. Extraction and treatment aren't really all of that difficult to…" Sigh, moan. "I could have done so much more..."

"No, no. You know what. Scratch that. Here are my last words. Good luck SHIELD. You need all of it you can get. "

The static crackled and crunched as the line went dead.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Coulson stared at the opposite wall his office, shock and horror painted across his face. for none to see but the empty shadows. A fist came up to press against his mouth as though that would keep the tears burning in his eyes from spilling over. It seemed to work; they swam but did not fall. He shut them harshly as the audio recording replayed,

"To whoever's listening to this.."

"God, what have I done?" He whispered. Hiding his face in his hands. "What have I done?"


	2. A File for Thomas Ward and No One Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last letter to Thomas Ward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay, looks like I' m going somewhere with this! please let me know what you think! Ward's gonna be painfully honest about some things here...so beware, you have been warned. Enjoy! 
> 
> -D.

The dirt on Dillon Truman’ s, formerly Thomas Ward, hands filled the car with the smell of fresh upturned earth and it made him sick. He tried to ignore the memories of the well and the cold...the nearly drowning. He avoided looking at the lock box in the passenger side seat. He wanted to think he would have the restraint to leave it unopened. That he wouldn't torture himself about Grant any more than he already did, but he knew better. He knew the curiosity of what Grant had decided was for his eyes only was too strong. He needed to move on but he craved having a little bit more to understand about Grant besides that sixty second phone conversation in which he lured his older brother to his death. He grit his teeth against tears that rose unbidden. 

He’ d had nightmares ever since the kidnapping and phone conversation...nightmares of how Grant had died. Had they shot him? How had they killed him? He imagined hundreds of ways...but he couldn’t seem to put the monstrous version--the adult version-- of Grant in those images...it was always the child Grant. The one who cried himself to sleep at night. The one who insisted that he wasn't going to let anyone hurt Thomas. 

When the man who’d kidnapped him--Mr. Coulson-- had shown up at his front door. It had freaked him out. He was afraid they were going to take him again, for a moment. But the man looked years older, and not angry, just...sad...miserable...unsure...then Dillon was afraid they had failed and Grant would come and find him for this betrayal, maybe set his house on fire too--he had instantly started to plot a way to get Maya out before Grant found them--but Coulson just offered him a blank envelope and noted with a heavy voice, 

“My card is in there, if you ever need anything, please just give me a call.” Then he had stared at Dillon for a long time, until he was uncomfortably aware that he was noting all of the similar facial features in Dillon's face with Grant’s--though he always looked more like Christian than Grant--and he had uncomfortably looked away before asking Mr. Coulson if he'd like to come in. The sad man had just shaken his head slowly and gave foreboding look. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Umm, it’s okay.” Dillon had lied through his teeth. So they had killed Grant. “I helped you of my own free will.” 

Mr. Coulson just shook his head and said quietly. “No, you didn’t. We kidnapped you and made you.” Dillon opened his mouth to protest and Coulson held up a hand to stop him. “We did. Remember that. That--” He pointed to the envelope in Dillon’ s hand, “was what he left for you in his will.” 

Dillon nodded and swallowed thickly. Grant had left him something? He felt sick. “Thanks.” He managed. 

“Don’t thank me.” Something flashed in Mr. Coulson’s eyes. “Don’t ever thank me. I’ m sorry.” 

Then he’ d left. 

Thomas had opened the envelope with shaking hands. Inside was Mr. Coulson’ s card and a single strip of white paper with the words 

"In a field in massachusetts, twenty miles from the house I grew up in, there’ s a lock box buried with a file for Thomas Ward, and no one else. Give him those instructions, he’ll know the rest. " 

“Maya!” He called to the kitchen. 

“Yeah , baby?” 

“I-uh- I gotta run a quick errand, I’ ll be back for dinner, kay?” 

“Alright. Love you, babe.” 

“Love you too,” he responded out of habit. 

Finally the anticipation was too much, and even though he was still twenty minutes away from home he pulled over to the side of the road and picked up the lock box. He took a deep breath and brushed the dirt off the top with a shaking hand. He fished for the key he had in his pocket and opened it cautiously. Inside sat a brand new manila envelope, probably bought only a few months ago. His stomach threatened him with nausea again as the thought that an alive Grant had bought that manila envelope and put it it this lock box recently flickered in his mind. Trembling fingers pulled the folder from it’s resting spot and he opened it, setting the lock box aside. 

The first thing he saw was the letter sitting on top. It was hand written. Gingerly he picked the page up and began to read the last words his brother had for him. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Thomas: 

You are perhaps one of the few people I’m ever going to really apologize to, because what I did to you was not for the greater good...it was for my own good. I’m sorry. I was a frightened child and was more concerned about saving my own skin than protecting you. I am so impressed you came out of everything the way you did. That’s all on you, you're the strongest of all of us. 

There are specific reasons behind why I threw you down the well… reasons that, for a long time, I felt justified for, and it wasn’t just the threat of a beating or two... There were other things going on at home. Things I didn’t tell you about because I thought I was protecting you from them...reasons I’m not going to explain to you now because they are irrelevant. They will do no good. There is no reason for you to know the details because all they will do is hurt you and excuse me. Neither of which are my purpose. 

My point is, these “reasons” were not adequate justification. There was no circumstance under which me, tossing you down a well was vindicated. I hope that someday you will understand just how much I regret that. I regretted it immediately, which is why I never did anything like that to you again...I know that must have been confusing, and terrifying...I was twelve...I understand a little bit how terrifying I must have become to you. That’s when I learned to fear myself. So I’m sorry, Thomas. For everything. If there were anyway that I could show you how sorry I am, I would jump at the opportunity. But I know there isn’t. So as much worth as you’re willing to give that apology, you deserve it and more. 

The next portion of this is a brief account of what happened to me after I burned the house down since we haven’t met or spoken since. I again am not justifying myself, I’m explaining to you what happened so that...maybe you can get some closure from it...either in assuring yourself that I am indeed a monster or reassuring yourself that I’m somehow still your brother--it doesn’t matter. It’s for you. If you read this portion of the file, please take it however you want. If you don’t want to read a several page report all about my despicable self, I am not asking you to. I guess I’m just selfish and need to write it all down...maybe so I feel like I gave you the chance to know me. Don’t read this if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything. 

Please, however, if you have no interest in reading this explanation, skip to the _____underlined_____ portion. There is something of great importance that I need you know. Please read that. 

After the well, I was sent to military school. I assume someone told you that. I’ m sorry I never told you myself. I was there for three years. At first I was clumsy and awkward, but my reflexes were abnormally accurate despite my build being short and fat. That changed while I was there, I grew a foot and lost baby fat over a period of eight months as an early teen and naturally shifted from bullied to bully. I did not excel. I was emotional and out of control and spent more time excepting punishments than participating in events. My athleticism developed however and caught the eye of some of the trainers and eventually the Warden in charge of the place. Which is how I got discovered by HYDRA in the first place. 

I came home and burned the house down, in attempts to kill Christian. I admit that. I was angry, and hellbent on revenge. I know somehow that it was wrong...but to be perfectly honest I don’t actually understand why even now. Something inside of me just must be broken. I hurt so bad I just wanted him to hurt the same. I was desperate for him to suffer as much as I did. And that’s wrong. I know it, even if I don’t understand it. 

Anyways, I don’t know how much you heard about the whole ordeal...you were about eleven or twelve, right? Christian was advocating to have me tried as an adult--specifically a full life sentence. Who knows, maybe he was right and I should have been locked up away from people...I’ve ended up killing too many to count. Although, then I wouldn’t have been able to serve SHIELD...so I guess in a way it’s worth it. 

I’m getting off track again. I’m sorry. I’m making myself use this one as a final copy because I’ve written this letter at least forty times and it’s never good enough. So I’m just making whatever this one ends up being my final...But my focus is screwed. I’m pretty sure it’s these pain meds I’m on...I was missing shots yesterday it was so bad. Back on track. I was imprisoned in Juvenile Detention for three months as they discussed trying me as an adult. I was seventeen so it wasn't too far fetched. 

That’s when I met a man named John Garrett. Technically he asked me if I wanted to go with him, but basically he kidnapped me. Not excusing just noting. I was obviously not a child who should have been trusted in making decisions to join a world domineering agency. And I had no say in what happened after I uttered the word “yes.” So I have become pretty much convinced that it was kidnapping of a disturbed minor. I did not share those same sentiments at the time. I had a wary admiration of him to start with. He was confident, and scorned weakness; told me he could “make a man out of me.” But he didn’t. He made a monster. And I let him. 

He abandoned me in a several hundred acre wilderness that I never did figure what state it was in. I learned to survive for a year with my dog, Buddy. Technically he was Garrett’s dog. But he was mine more than anyone else’s. After a year, Garrett finally came back and began my training. I was trained extensively in hand-to-hand combat, grappling, rock climbing, aim and was systematically classically conditioned, though I didn’t realize that portion until years later. 

Garrett was...unpredictable. I never knew if he was going to beat me for a mistake or clap me on the back and coach me through it. I think it was for those moments that I attached myself to him so securely. It was not as though Garrett was any better than our family; he abused me emotionally, physically and sexually...so it’s not as though things got all of that much better for me, but I didn’t feel that the abuse was unnecessary anymore. First of all, I knew my guilt--I knew I deserved it-- and second, I knew that he was doing it to make me stronger. Or at least that’s what I let myself believe. I spent five years in the wilderness in total. Four of which I was completely at the mercy of Garrett whom I was conditioned to admire and respect and need as he was my only human contact for those five years. 

Garrett worked for HYDRA, and so from fifteen up I was indoctrinated with HYDRA ideals of maintaining control through chaos, self-serving, and strike first and you won’t lose. After those five years he had me shoot Buddy to rid me of my last social attachment. Then reintroduced me back into society and had me placed in the SHIELD Academy as a sleeper agent. 

It was a rough transition, I didn’t have any social skills or grace. I ate with my hands like an animal, didn’t see any need for self-care, hygiene, or friends, and freakishly excelled in all of my combat classes while failing my intellectual and strategy courses, due to the fact that I barely started high-school before I left it. My classmates referred to me as “Tarzan”or “Cave-man” and that was a pretty accurate description. 

Garrett quickly picked up on this obstacle and worked on me behind the scenes, whipping me into a presentable state I was far from. Garrett found I learned best under violent circumstances and punishments, and so even though I was surrounded by people at the Academy, his abuse only got worse until I learned and performed adequately. No one noticed because I made everyone avoid me. Then he’d make a sudden, unpredictable shift and tell me how proud of me he was. Called me “son”, gave me more food. That’s how I created “Agent Grant Ward of SHIELD.” 

He was abnormally cleanly and had borderline OCD. All his clothing fit a specific color combination --black, grays and whites, jeans, and tactical gear. He kept his hair short, and was always clean shaven. He ate a perfectly balanced diet and exercised religiously. He made allies, not friends, and never strayed from his hour by hour schedule. 

Alone, he was quiet and depressed, methodical and secretly lonely. With people he was quiet and irritable, but maintained a blank expression I learned from Garrett.( No matter what he did to me, I was to maintain the blank expression until he had finished and I was allowed to tend to myself. Then I could cry, or scream, or sleep, or whatever...just not before.) Agent Grant Ward was excellent in combat and espionage for a twenty-year old fresh recruit, and learned quickly. I designed his social adequacy purposefully low to hide what Garrett was still putting me through, avoid suspicion, and make up for my own social inadequacies. I lived as Agent Grant Ward of SHIELD for ten years. 

I changed him very little in that decade and as such he made for a very effective Specialist. If you don’t know what a specialist is...think assassin or secret agent. I know, it sounds fictional and ridiculous. I didn’t believe people actually did things like that either, but that’s basically what I was. Although it’s different than in the movies. Agent Grant Ward of SHIELD’s anti-social behavior made him an ideal candidate not his charm, or wit or humor. Those were non-existent. He was ideal because no one would miss him if he was gone and he knew how to detach himself from emotions in order to complete a mission efficiently. Being a specialist is not nearly as exciting or desirable as fiction makes it out to be. 

I obviously can not give you the details of my missions, those are still classified, but I believe that the description of Agent Grant Ward’s personality and disposition probably explains enough about him that you can well imagine what his thoughts were and how he responded to missions. He was not a creature of regrets, and if he had them Garrett killed them quickly. 

____________Please begin reading here if you chose to avoid reading my explanation:_________________________________ 

Everything changed when I discovered I had a daughter. Yes, I have a daughter. It came as a surprise to me as well. I discovered quite by accident when a woman I’d been seeing when I first began at the academy, before agents are sterilized, was arrested for beating her ten-year- old mute child for failing to find her vodka. Garrett warned against entangling myself with SHIELD agents I might turn on in the end, and so had directed me to her off base. 

She was a drinker when I was seeing her as well, but because she had been seeing so many SHIELD agents--they were all HYDRA agents attached to Garrett, but that was not common knowledge-- SHIELD stepped in to save front and dealt with the woman underwraps and gave the girl medical care. While undergoing medical treatment they discovered that she was in fact, genetically, my daughter. 

\--

Garrett found it extremely lucky the doctor was HYDRA, and was able to notify him before SHIELD was informed, so he could put her down. 

HYDRA agents can not have any social or familial connections. 

I panicked and begged Garrett not to order that and after a beating he promised to allow her to live under close monitoring with threat of selling her into trafficking or just killing her himself if I let it affect my mission. I agreed. But it did affect my mission, in a worse way than Garrett dared imagine. It made me doubt HYDRA, and worse, I began to doubt him. 

I was a level six agent at the time and asked for a personal meeting with Maria Hill, SHIELD’s second in command. I turned myself in and offered to remain in HYDRA as a contact if they protected my daughter. It was risky, but I had no other option. They agreed, faked her death in a fatal car accident and moved her into protective custody, and I continued on as a HYRDA sleeper agent and have been reporting to Director Fury for the past three years. 

In order to maintain my cover after HYDRA surfaced I twisted my role from Agent Grant Ward of SHIELD to Grant Ward of HYDRA. I had to convince the team that I was with that I was indeed HYDRA and not worth saving, because if they discovered I was a triple it was very likely they would stop at nothing to save me, and that would blow my cover. So Grant Ward of HYDRA lost his mind. I did kill our parents and Christian. To maintain my cover and to stop Christian from prying and possibly endangering that cover. I am sorry. I failed to think of you when I took that step. They were your parents too, and I could have chosen another way to convince the team I was lost...in fact I did use other techniques as well. Since I'm being perfectly honest with you. I wanted to do it. I know it's wrong. I know it’s horrible. I sometimes wish I hadn't done it. But I can not change it now. That’s all there is to it. I’m sorry. 

I can not say I sold my soul to SHIELD it out of love for my daughter. I never met her. Contact with me would have make her a target, more so than she already is and I couldn’t risk it. 

I don’t know how to explain it, Thomas. I can’t possibly love her, but I was willing to give up everything to save her. And I’m not a good man, so it can’t have been from the goodness of my heart--If I have a heart there is nothing good about it. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me willing to do anything for her, even against Garrett whom I nearly worshipped at the time. Maybe it’s something about genetics and the subconscious desire to keep my genes alive...but I don’t know...there has to be something more to it than that. Maybe I developed an attachment to her just by looking at the pictures they had of her and watching the security footage of her in the lab. I don’t know. I just know that now that Director Fury is out of the picture. She has no protection. 

I know I have no right to ask you to do anything for me. But I’m going to do so anyways. I am so sorry to be this selfish...but I don’t trust anyone else with my daughter, and I need her to be safe. I am selfish and worthless and a monster and you can hate me for however long you want. But please don’t leave this little girl to the wolves, because of her relation to me. 

Her name is Rainey Ellen Parson and she’d be about thirteen right now--or at least at the time I am writing this letter. She likes math and Lord of the Rings and is fluent in ASL. She doesn’t speak, but isn’t deaf. I think it’s a result of the trauma her mother put her through. I do not know what her favorite color is, or what her first word in sign was. I do not know if she has friends or what music she likes to listen to. I do not know if she ever wonders who her father is, but I have thought of her everyday since I discovered her. 

Please find her, Thomas. Please make sure she is safe. If you don’t want to raise her, please do not send her into a foster care system without knowing the family and investigating them in depth. I don’t want her to have to grow up anymore like we did than she already has. If you do raise her...please raise her like she’s your own...not like she is mine. I don’t want you to see the monster I’ve become everytime you look at her. She’s just a little girl. The only thing she has from me are a few chromosomes. 

I don’t deserve this. But she does. So please find her. 

I will probably be dead by the time you read this file. I was diagnosed with Stage 3 lung cancer five months ago and was not allowed extraction for treatment. I will either die undercover or die in a few weeks of the cancer--it’ s already progressed to metastatic lung cancer, so it’s already spread to my bones. This makes my combat sloppier and makes me more breakable. I break and fracture bones as often as I bruise recently. Needless to say, I am dying. So I can not find care for her myself. I don’t even know where she is right now. But I need to find someone to keep her safe, to raise her like she’s a kid...not my kid. 

Everything I did for SHIELD, I did for Rainey. Don’t tell her that. Ever. I did horrible things for SHIELD. But it was to keep her out of HYDRA’ s hands and hopefully create a better world for her to grow up in. I have given the Director of SHIELD everything I have on HYDRA so they should be gone within the next few years if the information is handled correctly. 

I know I hurt you and that the trauma you experienced is not something that should ever be forgiven; Though I apologize again and again. I know that it’s my own fault that Rainey was born...but I will not apologize for that. She is beautiful and worth more than she’ll ever know. So I apologize for not having anyone else who I trust enough to ask this of. But I ask it anyways. 

The file attached has everything on her. Pictures of her, her birthday; which is March 4th, the school she went to, the families she lived with, the reports made by her counselor and psychologist, all of her medical records and her birth certificate, and a short list of important translations of ASL that you might need. There is also a bank account slip in there that if you activate with your name and Social Security will give you access to funds to help you out in finding her and either raising her or placing her in a safe home; whichever you choose I am beyond grateful. 

Thank you for choosing to be something more than the product of your environment. I may never have known you as an adult, but I know you would have been one of the best men I ever met. 

Sincerely, 

Grant 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Dillon leaned forward to press his forehead to the steering wheel and his shoulders shook with quiet sobs. Emotions swirled around him in violent turmoil and the letter crinkled as he gripped it harder, as though that might anchor him to this world and keep him from drowning in the ever changing tide. 

'I lead my brother to his death. He was dying anyways. He didn’t tell anyone. He was alone. I didn’t know. I lead my brother to his death. Grant had a daughter. Grant has a daughter. Raniey. Her name is Rainey. I lead my brother to his death. Grant is dead. Grant has cancer. Grant had cancer because now he’s dead. I let them kill my brother. I let them kill Grant. I helped them. Grant was trying to to the right thing. He was trying again. Grant had a daughter. Her name is Rainey. I led her father to his death.' 

“Hey,” Dillon flinched as a memory of a young Grant lit up, Grant was so bruised it looked like his face was made of rubber and not skin anymore. “Hey Thomas, it’ s okay,” A soft pudgy hand reached into pat Thomas’s shoulder, “Why are you crying? They didn’t find you. It’s okay. You're alright.” 

“Why do you let them hurt you Grant?” He sobbed. 

“Cause I don’t want them to hurt you. I’ m your big brother, I wanna protect you.” 

“You shouldn't let ‘em hurt you.” 

Grant frowned at him, as though trying to figure him out, but his face didn't frown right because he was too swollen. Thomas cried harder. 

“Okay! Okay!” Grant promised rashly, “I won’ t let them hurt me anymore!” He knew Grant was lying to make him feel better, but it did make him feel, just a little bit better and so he reached out to his bigger brother and let Grant hold his and comfort him. 

Dillon flipped through the pages of Rainey’ s file and found the picture of the thirteen year old girl. He choked and looked away. She looked so much like him. The wide, round shaped eyes that already knew how to narrow suspiciously, the sharp angled lips with two perfect mountain peaks and the decisive valley between. The heavy cheekbones, the strong brows, the wide forehead, and round chin. Her hair was long and a thick, wave of dark brown that framed her face gently. She had blue, rather than her father’s brown, eyes that were heavily lidded as she slightly glared at the camera as though it was some untrustworthy thing that had rudely interrupted her listless thoughts. He shut his eyes hard and pressed his forehead tightly to the steering wheel. Forcefully enough to leave a mark. 

"She is beautiful and worth more than she’ll ever know." 

Grant was right. She was a beautiful child. Just a child. A lonely girl who had never met her father who loved her to the ends of the earth. Loved her to death. Literally. 

His phone rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Shaking hands fumbled with it and he desperately accepted it when he saw it was Maya, 

“Maya!” he choked. 

There was a hesitation as she was thrown off by the tears swimming in his tone. “Dillon? Baby, you alright? What’s wrong?” 

“Maya…” He whispered, sobbing becoming more audible. 

“Dillon? What’s wrong?” She was alarmed. He couldn't bring himself to comfort her. “Where are you baby? Let me come get you.” 

“I’m just outside of Groveland. On-” he hiccuped through a sob. “On Younger’s Road.” 

“I’m getting in the car now,” She promised, “Are you okay? Were you in wreck? Is there anyone there with you?” 

“No.” He answered all three at once. “You shouldn't talk on the phone and drive, M.”He managed. 

“Dillon, you’re scaring me. What’ s going on?” 

“Um...my brother--” He couldn’t breathe. 

“Are you having a panic attack?” he could here her driving. “Dillon, tell me what you’re feeling. Is it a flashback, or--” 

“How do you feel about adoption, M?” He choked. 

“What?” She floundered, trying to keep up with him. “Um, adoption?” 

“Yeah, would you ever want to adopt?” 

“Uhh, maybe, we could talk about that. Why? What does adoption have to do with--” 

“I-I let them kill him!” Dillon moaned, pounding his head against the steering wheel. 

“Dillon-?” 

“I-uh-I gotta go, M, gonna be sick-” He hung up and barely managed to open the door and hold the folder to his chest before he emptied himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of this direction I' m going in? Did I give you whiplash? Do you think this is an interesting direction? Please let me know what you' re thinking!
> 
> -D.


	3. Believe It When You See It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the long wait! Please tell me what you think! <3
> 
> -D.

Agent Grant Ward looked both ways before crossing the street. He wasn’t Agent Grant Ward now though...for now he was just man on his way to somewhere, street-dressed casual and expression quiet. Dark glasses and a baseball cap were settled over his face masking his identity partially and his hands were secured in his jacket pockets toying with a small knife. 

He walked sixteen blocks, weaving in and out of alley’s and buildings evasively, dropping and avoiding any tails as though he could smell their presence. He walked into a small, nearly empty diner and took a seat in the farmost corner, ordering coffee and picking up a paper. 

Daisy Johnson glared at the screen of her computer and blinked her dry eyes rapidly to keep them forced open as she watched the surveillance footage captured six months ago. She hadn’t found anything yet to prove Coulson’s story of Ward’s triple status. She wasn’t going to believe it until she saw it with her own two eyes. Hope and disappointment would hurt too much this time. 

Ward drank half a cup of coffee and ate an omelet, reading the paper alone in the corner. She carefully assessed and tracked everyone who entered and left the diner...but no one approached or even gave the tall, dark man in the corner a second glance. 

After exactly thirty minutes on the dot--his punctuality still unnerved her-- he folded the newspaper and tipped the waiter, walking out as inconspicuous as he had entered. Daisy groaned and pounded her head against the headboard of her bed. This was the fourth time he’d done that. Walked into the diner, met with no one, and left. He always ordered coffee and a small entree, never finished either, read a paper and left precisely 30 minutes after he arrived never failing to tip. She glared at the clock that taunted her with a 2:37 a.m.. 

Maybe this had no evidence in it after all. Maybe it was just another one of his odd, creepy, mechanical quirks. Robot, she thought immediately, but flinched away from the fond memories threatening to surface with that name. She was not going to grieve him until she knew he was worth grieving. 

She was still grieving Lincoln. She didn’t have time to grieve anyone else. Especially not good-for-nothing-Hitler-youth-hydra-serving-backstabbing-dirtbags who had nothing better to do with their time on the S.H.I.E.L.D’s most wanted terrorist list than drink half a cup of weak diner coffee and eat an omelet over the Sunday paper. She sighed and pressed her hands to her eye sockets. She wasn’t even really looking for evidence on Ward...she was avoiding the issue of Lincoln. She chucked her pillow across the room with a frustrated huff and returned her smoldering, mascara smeared gaze back to the computer screen. 

Her burn phone vibrated it and she picked it up and snapped, 

“What?! I’m sleeping.” 

“No you’re not.” Coulson replied confidently, smirk caged in this tone. 

“It’s 2:37 a.m.” She growled. “Why would I not be sleeping?” 

“Because you’re not.” Coulson replied in that irritatingly cocky tone again. “Wait? Did you say 2:37 a.m.? So are you on the West Coast?” 

Daisy rolled her eyes. “I’m hanging up now.” She ended the connection and went back to her screen scowling. A woman had come in and sat down at Ward’s previous table. 

This was impossible. There was no meetings, no evil mastermind monologues, there wasn’t even any conversation with the waiter really. He just came into a different diner every time with the same routine. Sat down. Drank coffee. Read paper. Left. And then a woman would come sit at the table and Ward would disappear off every surveillance and security system in the near proximity. She couldn’t find him no matter where she searched. Suddenly her heart leapt to her throat. A woman...it was always a woman who came to sit down at the table after him… 

Possibly a coincidence...but with Ward? Not likely. Nothing about him was coincidental. 

She zoomed in on the woman’s faces in each of the video’s. There was a blonde twice, a red head once and the one in the current video was dark haired. Different women… unless...she froze each of the video’s and examine the frame’s running facial recognition on them. Her stolen tech from shield let her de-pixelate the images far more clearly than any other system. She bit her nails as the system ran through possible matches and jumped when her phone rang. 

“Stop calling me!” She snapped into the receiver. 

“Daisy!” Coulson begged, “Please don’t hang up! We need you.” 

“I’m not coming back in.” Daisy snarled. “I told you, I’m done.” 

“Okay, we can respect that...but please, just come in as a consultant once. We need you to come in and break the encryption on a file. No one can get into it--” 

“Is this Ward’s so called “Hydra” file?” She demanded. “Not interested. It’s probably a trojan horse or something anyways.” 

Coulson gave a heavy sigh. “Daisy, I understand this is hard for you, it’s hard for all of us...but please come back. Even just for a little bit. Let’s get through this together--” 

She hung up again and cursed as the facial recognition came up blank. She fell out of bed and trudged into the kitchen to pour herself yet another cup of coffee before returning to her task and pulling up the next video she had on record of Ward in a Diner. 

Same gig. He looked both ways, crossed the street, hands in his pockets, entered another diner, ordered...water. 

Daisy sat up straight. This was new. Her gaze sharpened to take everything in, every movement he made, every shift, every scratch behind his ear...was he….? Was he fidgeting? She zoomed in a bit, his knee was bouncing anxiously, bumping against the table and sweat soaked through the collar around his neck and even though he wore a jacket, she was certain his back and armpits were soaked through as well. He was sweating profusely. He was intensely agitated… She had never seen him like this. Not when he was the cool-headed agent with the team or the insane, hot-headed rogue hydra agent. He was never agitated...except once. He had been agitated when she’d turned him over, when he’d first turned. His knee had bounced then too...She’d blocked that out. She’d forgotten. But now she remembered. It wasn’t as intense as this though. This was blatant. Screaming to the world; “I’m out of my depth. I’m scared.” It made something clench in her stomach. Even if this happened months ago...even if he was a traitor...even if he was evil...something was terribly….horrifically...wrong. 

It scared her to see Ward; the invincible, untouchable, psychotic, dangerous, terrifying Ward...afraid. She hated the fact that it was true, but here, alone in her bed, at 2:37 a.m.-- with Ward already dead and having no ability to use that fact against her anymore-- she was able to acknowledge that it scared her to see him scared. 

He kept glancing around and sipping at the water. A waiter came over and spoke to him a bit before going back to fetch an entire pitcher of water. Ward drained the glass all at once gulping until it was gone and quickly refilling. 

The message was clear. He was trying to speed the process up. Whatever he was waiting for, he didn’t want to wait longer. He didn’t have to. 

A woman, with short dark hair entered and flashed a smile at the waiter before walking over and greeting Ward with and warm hug that from this angle, Daisy could see was pressing a gun to his stomach and murmuring a threat that looked like a lover’s greeting in his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek. He gave a sweet smile back and pulled her closer, a large hand splayed over her shoulders teasing at a pressure point before leaning away to pat her shoulder and pull his glasses off. Daisy almost dropped her mug. He just revealed his identity to the cameras. He was threatening her and he was showing her that he wasn’t afraid of doing that revealed. Her spine stiffened ever so slightly but she masked it well and Ward laced his fingers through hers before ushering her out like a complete gentleman, as though she hadn’t just pressed the barrel of her firearm to his belly and he hadn't just reminded her he could break her spine with a firm enough grip. The woman and Ward walked hand in hand down the street, talking to one another and gesturing to window shops and laughing occasionally at things one or the other said, but it to a trained eye like Daisy had acquired over the last few years, it was obvious they were not discussing Christmas presents or the weather. His shoulders were too tense and he walked gracefully, not comfortably-- as though prepared to throw himself into traffic to get away from her if necessary-- and although she leaned in occasionally with a laugh or affectionate giggle, her right arm was wrapped around her middle--deceptively looking like she was merely holding her jacket-- so she could occasionally remind him of her armed status. 

Daisy’s fingers flew, trying to identify the woman and simultaneously jump from surveillance footage of the street and buildings to follow them. Her hacking was furious and fast, but not quite enough as the professional killers disappeared into the thickening crowd at the heart of the city. Daisy swore and spilled her coffee, pushing it aside to frantically find them again. She searched dozens of locations trying to find where they had lost her to predict where they would end up...but she was at a loss… 

Then, there it was! A lucky find. She saw two figures arguing in an alleyway. A man and a woman. The bank’s surveillance camera was just barely too far away and they were too shadowed for her to get a good look at their faces, but she recognized the way Ward moved. That was slightly disturbing, but pushed it aside. She’d lived with the man for over a year. She should know, it was good for threat assessment. She moved on… 

The visual wasn’t perfect by any means, but the bank had audio. She grinned triumphantly as the feed crackled to life mid sentence and scrambled to her desk to scribbled every word that was said onto a piece of blank notebook paper. 

“And just so we’re clear,” Ward hissed, leaning threateningly over the woman, forcing her back into a wall. “I wired myself, so everything you say will be put in my complete file to be kept on record.” 

“Stand down, Agent Ward. We’re on the same side, here.” The woman said in a dry and sarcastic tone that couldn’t mask being strained under the tension of the situation. 

“Are we?” Ward snarled. “Really? Cause I’m not really sure what S.H.I.E.L.D. stands for anymore.” Daisy tensed. What? 

“Look, you’re under a lot of stress right now.” The woman ducked out from under the threatening killer, hands raised, gun not trained on him anymore, “You just need to assess yourself right now. You’re snapping, just take a deep breath and remember why you agreed to this mission in the first place--” 

Ward went very, very still, like a cornered bear considering where to best direct its final rampage. “Are you threatening her?” 

“Do I need to?” The woman tilted her head to the side threateningly. 

Ward was stiffer than stone. “Fury promised she would have protection--” 

“Yeah? Well Fury’s gone, Ward!” The woman snarled back. “Wake up! The world’s a different place than it was three years ago! We’re all operating in the dark here. Our agency is in chaos, the world is falling into anarchy and war, our “mightiest heroes” are trying to kill each other, and Coulson is too busy scratching shapes into walls to do anything about it.” 

“Coulson knows what he’s doing.” Ward growled so low Daisy almost missed it. She frowned...wait, what? 

“Yeah, just like Fury knows what he’s doing and the good Captain knows what he’s doing and you know what you’re doing? No one knows what they’re doing anymore, Agent. We’re all just reacting. Trying to survive. So yes.” She lowered her gun at him. “I will use her against you. And no, I don’t care if she’s a child. If it gets the job done, so be it.” 

Ward’s entire stance was off. Half of him was clearly on the offensive, wanting to tear this woman apart limb by limb, but the other half was defensive, as though instincts were screaming at him to protect rather than lunge. 

“You’re bluffing.” Ward demanded. 

“Do you want to risk that I’m not?” The woman smirked. 

There was no smart reply to that. Daisy felt sick. Who was the woman threatening? A child? What kind of child did Ward care about? He was evil… 

“This is how this is going to work, Agent.” The woman spoke with authority. She help the trump card and she knew it. “I will answer a select few questions to put you more at ease-- we really are on the same side here-- and you will get your job done, no more of these embarrassing mental breaks, got it?” 

“I won’t be able to finish.” Ward murmured. 

“I’m sorry, I thought we already covered this. I have her, and I will not fail to use her to my advantage if you fail to follow through--” 

“I can’t!” Ward roared. They both flinched and looked to the entrance of the alley to see if anyone had heard them. When they were satisfied that no one had, Ward went on in a more hushed tone so Daisy had to strain to listen, “I was diagnosed as stage three.” There was a long pause and Daisy’s heart started pounding. “I have five months to live if I don’t receive treatment. I can’t complete the mission.” 

The woman’s shoulder tensed as she gauged his face to find truth there. Daisy looked for it too...and it was impossible to miss. Her eyes widened and she froze. Her heart stopped. All the sloppy hand to hand at the end...all his distracted monologuing to prolong the fights...all the sudden losses in emotional control...it all made sense now...Ward was already dying. She was frozen in a tomb of ice incapacitated to reacting in any other way. 

The woman relaxed again slightly and she gave a sigh, holstering her gun. Bold move. “I’m sorry, Ward. Is that the real reason you signalled me?” 

He nodded, “I need out. You gotta give me extraction.” 

She shook her head slowly. “Extraction was never part of the deal.” 

“Neither was threatening to leverage my daughter against me!” Ward hissed leaning towards her again. Daisy gasped and dropped her pen. The ice around her heart melted and it screamed as it struggled at the bars of her ribs, trapped with in a flaming building doomed to fall. Daughter. Daughter. Daughter. 

The woman reached for her gun again but Ward was too fast and snapped her wrist behind her back. 

“I want extraction. And I want my daughter to remain unharmed. That’s it. That’s all I’m asking for.” 

She twisted out and slipped away, but not before he’d confiscated her weapon. 

“Not my call to make, Agent.” She snapped. “You can’t have both.” Ward cocked the gun. “If you shoot me, you can guarantee you lose those both.” 

Ward’s face twitched and he said in a rough voice. “What guarantees you haven’t already killed her.” He sounded like he was choking. Daisy’s hands were sweating and shaking… Ward had a daughter… 

“I’ll show you a video stream.” The unarmed woman promised, lowering her raised hands to pull out her cell phone. “How about you ask those questions, now, while I pull it up.” 

“If you call for help of call a shot on me, I will turn on you,” He warned, cocking the gun. “And you’d be surprised how much more damage I can cause when I’m actually fighting against S.H.I.E.L.D.” 

“That, I can believe.” The woman gave a bitter laugh, and began swiping on her phone. “Ask away, Agent….” She hesitated before adding quietly, “You’ve earned it.” 

“Has Fitz made a full recovery?” He demanded. 

“Yes.” Daisy’s hair stood on end. This woman knew them personally? 

“Has Simmons been found?” 

The woman sighed and shook her head. “No,” 

Ward swore. “Is Agent Morse a triple?” 

The woman glanced up at him. “Yes…” 

“And you didn’t think that was information I needed to know?!” He snapped. Daisy’s chest ached. 

“It worked out in the end.” The woman shrugged. 

“Yeah, after I traumatized one of our most functional agents, and blew a hole in her chest trying to find answers, that Fury apparently had the whole time!” Daisy was nauseous. 

“There’s a really bad joke about your current disposition and my boss’s name lurking around there somewhere.” The woman had a snarky smile in her voice. Ward didn’t appear to appreciate it. Daisy didn’t either. “Yes, it was messy, but you did what you were in the dark. It couldn’t have been avoided. She’s on her way to recovery and you maintain your deep cover. Overall that mess still came out a success.” 

Ward growled and asked, “Is Fury alive? Or are you calling the shots now?” 

“Coulson’s calling the shots.” The woman evaded the question and handed Ward her phone. He carefully took it, making sure not to let down his guard. 

He kept the gun trained on the woman but glanced down to look at the video on the screen. Daisy watched his tense shoulders coil and his voice was strangled as he pushed. “There’s no date.” 

“It’s today.” The woman promised saying into her comm, “Have the girl look at the camera.” 

Ward’s breath hitched and his shoulders uncoiled ever so slightly. Daisy’s whole body ached. He was trapped. He was going to do whatever this woman demanded of him. 

“She’s safe, as long as you continue doing your job.” 

“Extraction is denied then.” Ward sounded resigned and bitter. 

“Denied.” The woman nodded solemnly. Pocketing her cell again. “You agreed to give your life, when you signed up for this. We can not accept anything less. This is going to save S.H.I.E.L.D. from destruction.” 

“Is that a good thing?” Ward gave a bitter laugh and handed her gun back to her. 

“You’re work is going to save thousands of innocent lives, Agent. And as long as you give us everything you can, and continue to perform at the high standard you’ve set for yourself, I swear I will see to it myself, that your daughter is safe.” 

“After I’m gone.” He finished the sentence for her quietly and gave another harsh chuckle. “I will also be seeing to that...so don’t you even try to double cross me. I don’t care if I’m dead. You will pay if you harm a hair on her head.” 

There was a silent acknowledgement before the woman nodded and left the alley way. As she stood in the exit, however she turned around the light caught her face. Daisy gasped, it was Agent Maria Hill. 

“Your work might not be remembered by many, Agent. But I hope you find a place where you can rest easy knowing that you saved many. The most powerful forces always remain in the shadows.” Then she turned and walked out, leaving Daisy staring at the quivering figure of Ward as he reigned himself it, rubbed sweaty hands down the tops of his thighs and took off his jacket to tie around his waist. He put the shades back on his face and strode out with only a slight hitch to his step. A powerful force who lurked in the shadows and walked in the filth because it didn't frighten him like it did others. He disappeared off screen and Daisy didn’t even try and follow him this time. 

Slowly she got up and walked into the bathroom. Numbly starting a shower. Sometimes a 3:12 a.m. shower cleared the thoughts...sometimes the hot water could reach into your soul and warm your insides...sometimes you left just as numb, though. 

Sometimes grief was too heavy. She was grieving Lincoln...now she would have to grieve Ward...and grieve the things she never knew about him. Se was never going to understand that man. That monster. That manipulative maniac who melted her soul so easily, over and over. She was never going to understand him, and everything she learned about him became harder and harder to bear until here she was, at 3:12 on a December morning, in the shower,staring blankly at the white wall, wondering about a little girl she’d never have even guessed existed. What kind of father had Ward been? Why had he never mentioned her? How old was she? Did she look like him? Would Hill stay true to her word? 

She would. Daisy would make certain that she did, or there would be hell to pay. 

She wandered into the bedroom again still wrapped in a towel and sopping wet and dialed the number before she backed out. 

“Forty-five minutes change your mind?” His voice quipped hopefully on after the second ring. 

“No.” She murmured. 

“You alright Daisy? What’s wrong?” 

“I’m coming in.” She said without explanation. 

There was a surprise silence followed by a quick, “You’re always welcome.” 

“I know.” She admitted, before hanging up again and searching the next flights. 

Quake was coming in.


	4. An Eye for an Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry its been so long! Here's another one! I'll try to update more often! 
> 
> -D.

Former Agent Jessica Blair sat in the park. On the bench. And watched her play. 

A little girl of seven years old, golden tails flying, and skirts waving in cheerful abundance of innocent joy was climbing to the top of a brightly painted jungle-gym. Her stuffed bear, Fred, was secured tightly beneath her arm and a sweet smile warmed the air around like a halo as she turned around to wave at her mother.  
Agent Blair’s hand twitched to return the wave, but it remained in her lap, tightly clenching a newspaper.  
Then her daughter turned around and ran in the opposite direction. Blonde pigtails streaming behind her like streamers she ran away and disappeared into a squabble of children. Blair swallowed thickly and glanced down at the front page her paper.  


“Government officers chasing Hydra, kill teenager in crash”  


Tears bled through her lashes and dripped onto the newsprint. One fell on the name of the suspect and the name bled black across the page. 

Grant Ward.  


She sucked in a harsh breath against the sobs and let them compress themselves deep down into the pit of her belly. She swallowed again. Swallowed the sorrow. Swallowed the tears.  


A dark haired woman walked in her direction from across the park. She walked through the shadow of a little girl that did not belong to Agent Blair; a little girl who belonged to death. Killed in a car accident, taken out by a Hydra agent.  


The dark haired woman took a seat next to Blair on the bench cautiously.  


“Jessica.” She said softly.  


“Maria.” Jessica gave a tight smile, tears dry and face brittle. “You didn’t come to the funeral.”  


“I wanted to..” Maria Hill glanced at her hands uncomfortably. “But--”  


“SHIELD went to Hell in a handbasket?” Jessica gave another brittle smile and looked across the park again.  


“Something like that…” Maria sighed and squinted out to the left at the parking lot. “We lost our best source in Hydra.”  


Jessica turned toward her with a curious look. “Oh?”  


Hill shrugged and cleared her throat. “Classified.”  


“Hmmm.” Jessica rolled her eyes and a disbelieving laugh bubble up from that dark pit of misery in her gut. “And I thought I was escaping Shield’s classified problems when I left.” She smacked the paper against her thigh with a resounding crack and another one of those soulless laughs shuddered through her chest again before getting choked off again.  


“Jessica, I’m so sorry about Katlyn, but that has nothing to do with--”  


“Bull.” Blair offered Hill the paper without looking at her.  


Hill took it gingerly and slowly opened it up to begin reading with a heavy sigh.  


“Grant Ward.” She said. Maria froze. “He was the next Romanoff, if I remember correctly. Am I right?” Maria didn’t not. Don't breathe. Her gaze was glued to the paper. 

“Tragedy really. One of SHIELD’s best specialists. A traitor. You know, I thought we’d have suffered more damage when he turned than we did. Guess we’re lucky, huh?”  


Maria refused to respond or lift her gaze.  


“Don’t want to talk about him? That’s fine.” Jessica settled back in the bench a bit more. “Let’s talk about Fury.”  


“What about him?” Maria’s voice was raw and pained, but it didn’t fool Blair.  


“I know he’s alive.” Blair squinted at the horizon. When Maria finally looked at her she twisted her smirk a bit wider. “Oh come now Maria. SHIELD hired me because I’m good at my job. You didn’t really think I couldn’t figure a few things out for myself? Where you so caught up in ‘the next Romanoff’ that you forgot who found the original and tracked her down for you?” She raised a dark eyebrow reproachfully. “Turned out that my backing up Barton on that mission was a win for SHIELD too. It could be argued that not only did I find Romanoff for you, but I gave you the key player to reel her in and make her an asset. Just because I retired to sit behind a desk doesn’t mean I lost my touch, Maria. It’s easy find that Fury’s alive. What I want to know is how did he know the threat was coming?”  


“It’s only protocol for the Director to have a plan in place in case of--”  


“Don’t speak to me as though I’m ignorant, Hill.” Blair snapped, silencing the other woman with the force of emotion behind her accusation. “Fury’s escape was perfectly timed, executed and enacted. Romanoff herself was fooled. He knew the threat was coming and he acted accordingly. So tell me deputy director,” She sneered, “Who tipped him off. Who was playing triple?”  


Maria sighed and slumped back in the bench, but the curling of her left pinky let Blair know she was about to lie.  


“There were a few dozen triples.” She shrugged. Truth. “There’s no telling who was the first.” Lie.  


“Hmmm.” Jessica looked out over the playground again and sat in silence for a few moments. “You know I used to take Katlyn here?” She smiled nostalgically. “On Saturday's the ice cream truck would come. I rarely let her have one… but when I did…” She smiled again but then it soured, “I wish I had given her an ice-cream every single time.”  
There was another painful silence.  


“Do you remember that pink bunny Agent Tyler got her for her fifth birthday?” Hill gave a teary smile herself.  


“How could I forget?” Blair laughed topped with a heavy sigh. “The thing was four feet tall and sang!”  


Silence rested again for a full five minutes.  


“Tell me the truth, Hill.” Blair bit out quietly. “Was he operating under SHIELD sanctions?”  


“Ward?” Maria cut straight to the chase and glanced over at her old friend before easily deciding to give the woman what closure she could offer. For whatever it was worth. 

“Yes…” She sighed again. “He was under strict instructions to avoid civilian and SHIELD agent casualties where he could…”  


Blair too a sharp breath through her teeth. “But cross them off when he had to.”  


“It was an accident, Jess.” Hill shook her head. “Believe me, that Agent fought at the bit every time he accidentally or purposely took out allies or innocents.”  


“Why’d he turn?” Blair whispered.  


Maria shook her head again and almost didn’t answer but Blair hissed,  


“Who are you protecting, Maria? Classified means what? SHIELD is gone. Agent Ward was killed last week. Who is there left?”  


Maria shook her head again, reluctant to go against protocol, but after taking another look at her grief ravaged friend she muttered,  


“He turned three years ago.”  


Blair hissed. “Three years? Three years! You had three years to prepare and you--!” She choked again.  


“We did the best we could.” Hill stated stubbornly.  


“The best you could--” Blair laughed again, an even more venomous sound than before. “You did the best that you could and Katlyn was still-- Her skull was crushed in, Maria!” She trembled with the force it took to hold back from screaming. “You and Fury gave that Agent permission to escape at any cost and the car caved in on her skull! You’re best wasn’t good enough. His best wasn’t good enough! I don’t care if it was an accident. He broke my baby’s skull and left her for dead. Now you tell me, why. did. he. Turn?”  


Maria looked out at the park again and swallowed decisively before murmuring, “You’d do anything for Katlyn, wouldn’t you Jess?”  


“Well of course I wou--” Blair stopped short. “Agent Ward never had any children. Never settled down.”  


Hill shook her head and still wouldn’t look at her. “Nope, didn’t ever settle down.”  


Blair’s heart beat heavy in her chest. “Who was she? Was it a daughter? A son? Was it an exchange?”  


Hill shook her head. “I can’t give you any more details than that, but yes. We exchanged protective custody for his cooperation and intel on HYDRA.”  


Blair quivered. Quaked in silent rage. “So my daughter. My Katlyn. Was less valuable to SHIELD than the child of a former HYDRA agent?”  


Maria turned sharply, “Jess, you know that we would never--”  


“Oh, no. I know. I know SHIELD and how their love of intel outweighs everything else.” She snarled. “Of course the daughter of Grant Ward was more valuable than Katlyn. Her father was still in operation. You still had use for him. But as soon as I’m out of the picture. As soon as I retire. MY daughter is just another casualty. And apology in a letter, with a stamped signature.”  


Maria didn’t ever see the knife. Her face just paled as it punctured the perfect point in her solar plexus and began filling her lungs with blood to keep her from making a sound.  


“You know what the worst part is?” Jessica sneered at Maria’s bone-white face. “You never expect the knife in the back because you let your friends stand their. I never saw it coming.” She shook her head in silent mirth. “But you know how the saying goes; an eye for an eye? Tooth for a tooth?” Her grin took a wicked split. “Agent for an agent?” She gestured to Maria casually, but then her smirk dropped and in a tone of chilling certainty she demanded, “Daughter for a daughter.”  


Maria managed to open and close her mouth in attempts to speak, genuine fear filling her eyes for the first time in a long time.  


“There, there, dear.” She patted her on the cheek. “Don’t strain yourself.” She stood up and left the paper in Hill’s lap to cover the blood stain. “And thanks for showing up, by the way.” She straightened out her jacket collar and added, “I knew I could count on a friend like you.” Then the bitter smile broke, the former agent turned on her heel and Maria Hill, former deputy director of SHIELD, bled out on a park bench.


	5. I Love You Beyond Words

Maya stared at her husband from where she leaned against the counter across from him, questions swirled through her head and emotions that didn’t have names yet were tugging on the strings of her heart.  


Dillon was pink faced, puffy eyed and miserable across from her as he took another sip of his tea. She took a deep breath and continued to process everything that was going on in her head silently before she even attempted to say anything out loud. Her index finger traced the rim of her own mug of tea and collected the condensation along it’s lip as she tried once again to collect her thoughts.  


Why? Was all she could think. Why couldn’t the Ward family just leave them alone for once? Why did they have to come back? They visited them every night in the form of Dillon’s dreams, leaving him to her comfort in the state of sheer panic and terror. Was that not enough?  


Honestly, part of her felt like cheering Grant on when she saw about the fire that killed Mr. and Mrs. Ward...but that was something that she’d never admit out loud to Dillon. Dear sweet Dillon, an angel born in hell, who had enough heart and common sense to escape before it was too late and managed to maintain his soul. Dear sweet Dillon who wept at his parents funeral and grieved them because somehow… somehow, he’d already forgiven them and-- if not recovered-- at least moved on. Perhaps in that one sense--only that one-- she felt she understood her brother-in-law Grant, better than she understood her husband Thomas. Although to understand, and to condone are two separate entities. She could understand, but never condone what Grant did. Like Dillon said, Mr. Ward needed a walker to get around. While Maya understood revenge and rampant rage, she couldn’t condone it, all the same.  


She picked up the letter to read again and felt her heart twist when Dillon looked down at his tea and teared up again. Being handwritten Maya couldn’t help but read into every detail, every hint Grant had included in his last words. She didn’t need her Bachelor’s in Communications or her half finished Masters in Psychology to tell her that he chose to write it in longhand on purpose. There were unsaid truths in this piece of paper he couldn’t have forced from his hand or his mouth she was sure.  


“--it wasn’t just the threat of a beating or two... There were other things going on at home. Things I didn’t tell you about because I thought I was protecting you from them…”  


The pencil had shook as he wrote those words. Words she guessed he had never written or spoken or expressed the idea, concept or tentative truth of. He never explained the “reasons”, but he didn’t need to. The shaking of his hand said all that Maya needed to know. His hand shook only one more time; not when he wrote of his oncoming death, not when he spoke about the horrible things he did for SHIELD, not when he discussed his need to protect his daughter. The only other time his hand shook was when he spoke of Garrett, and it made Maya’s blood boil.  


“--so it’s not as though things got all of that much better for me, but I didn’t feel that the abuse was unnecessary anymore. First of all, I knew my guilt--I knew I deserved it-- and second, I knew that he was doing it to make me stronger.”  


She clenched her teeth. This was her job. Her area of focus in the New York Times and in her personal blog sites was very specific and very important. She wrote as an activist for mentally traumatized and disturbed children because all too often one slipped through the cracks and resulted in a case like her brother-in-law. She felt like she had failed them all just reading what he wrote, even though she had only been in middle school when Grant was still young enough to be considered a child. Five years? Five years! He was stranded in the wilderness, deprived of civilization, food, water, shelter, and human contact for five years?! How had they missed that? How had no one asked about him? Looked for him… she knew the answer. Because he was a Ward child. That’s why. Because he didn’t come out of the womb as twisted or vicious as Christian who stood up for him and didn’t have anyone to stand up for him. Because he was one of the Ward’s who was manipulated, beaten and mutated into an abomination, a monster, like Rose Ward had been. Because the only thing the Ward’s cared about was how loud they could make eachother scream or how desperately they could make eachother beg. She swallowed down a bit of that potent rage and moved on to other observations in Grant’s letter.  


“--if you don’t want to read a several page report all about my despicable self, I am not asking you to. I guess I’m just selfish and need to write it all down…”  


Self deprecation was a Ward family trait, she knew. Perhaps all but Christian used it at some point. What disturbed her in this hand written account was how simple it was. It didn’t shake, didn’t press hard and angry into the paper, didn’t brush lightly as though the writer couldn’t believe he was putting this on paper, it was simply put on the page as an afterthought. The script plain, bare and honest.  


“I am selfish and worthless and a monster and you can hate me for however long you want.”  


She felt confident enough that she could already diagnose so many things in this man, but she had to remind herself that she’d never met him really and a single letter and--although it was a very telling letter-- it was not enough to diagnose. Not near enough. The thought actually frightened her a bit. How had no one noticed what was happening? None of his coaches? Trainers? Co-workers? Supervising officers? Oh, that was Garrett.  
Back came the rage.  


“I don’t know how to explain it, Thomas. I can’t possibly love her, but I was willing to give up everything to save her.”  


The rage quieted to a well honed point that struck her straight through the heart. She knew how to explain it. She was his daughter... everyone but Grant probably knew how to explain it.  


“The file attached has everything on her. Pictures of her, her birthday; which is March 4th--”  


The strokes became bold, brave, proud that he knew her birthday, even if he hadn’t for ten years of her life.  


“--either raising her or placing her in a safe home; whichever you choose I am beyond grateful.”  


What a decision.  


"Thank you for choosing to be something more than the product of your environment. I may never have known you as an adult, but I know you would have been one of the best men I ever met."  


Well, she agreed with her brother-in-law on two things now.  


She set the letter down with a sigh and took another sip from her mug.  


“So…” She finally said. “What do you want to do about it?”  


Dillon gave a heavy sigh and pressed the heel of a hand into his eye-socket.  


“I don’t know…” He groaned, “What do you want to do?”  


Maya pursed her lips, and quirked an eyebrow, “Dillon, you know if we start that again, we’re never going to get out of it. Now are you going to tell me what you want, or am I?”  


Dillon gave her a half-hearted glare and said, “You go.”  


She snorted and turned around to start stacking the dishes alongside the sink for the dishwasher.  


“Fine. What do I think? I think there’s a thirteen year old girl out there somewhere who needs to be found. I think your brother was one of the most frustrating, terrifying, and yet strangely understandable and endearing people on planet earth. But I already felt that way about him...so I don’t know if that’s relevant.  


"I think SHIELD is thoroughly despicable and I’m glad their mostly gone now, but I also think that they have a very long reach, and this Coulson guy gave you a card and said “anything.” So I think we should use that to our advantage in finding Rainey. And finally, I think I need more time to think before we adopt… but I am definitely open to it. Now, Dillon, What do you think?”  


She looked up from the sink to see that Dillon was crying again as he watched her.  


“Dillon? Baby? What’s wrong?” She was to his side in an instant. Had she said something wrong? Had she offended him? Hit a nerve?  


“I- I think--” He choked on his tears. “I think… you’re the greatest thing in the world…” His shoulders shook slightly and she wrapped her arms as far around him as she could with a shaky laugh.  


“I could say the same to you, Dillon Truman. I love you.” She couldn’t pack enough meaning into those three words so she crushed him tighter in her embrace as though the force of her hug could express what words could not.  


I love you beyond words. Beyond thought. Beyond life.  


“Are you sure calling this ‘Coulson’ is a good idea?”  


“Well, either he helps us or I get a chance to throw a good swing at him for killing Grant, so yeah, I think it’s a good idea.” Maya pressed a kiss to her husband’s temple.  


“You wouldn’t.” Dillon sat up straighter, looking up at his wife in alarm. “Maya, these people kidnapped me in a public place, held a gun to my head, killed Grant and got away with all of it!”  


Maya frowned and added, “So far all you’re doing is giving me more reason…”  


“Maya that’s not funny!” Dillon looked mildly panicked.  


“Oh, come on, Dillon.” She rolled her eyes with an easy smile. “When have you ever known me to throw a punch at someone?”  


“My mother.” He said immediately without blinking.  


“Okaay.” She rolled her eyes again and flipped a honey-colored lock over her shoulder, “That was one time, and it was called for.”  


“Maya, I’m serious.” Dillon demanded again.  


“So am I.” She teased with a wink before darting down the hallway to pull the laundry out.  


An agitated, “Maaaayyyyaa!” Followed her and she couldn’t help but let the miniac  
supervillain cackle fly free. It was too great of an opportunity to pass up.


	6. Would Have, Could Have, Should Have

Would Have, Could Have, Should Have

Fitz threw the ball at the wall harder and caught it before snapping his wrist and letting it fly again.  


He didn’t know when he’d picked this habit up.  


Actually that was a lie.  


He knew very well where he picked this habit up. Ward used to do this when they’d talk. Usually about Simmons, once about Skye. Fitz did almost all of the talking and Ward would just sit in a rolling chair in the lab and chuck a ball at the wall, occasionally grunting to show that he was listening.  


***

“Do you want my opinion?” He’d asked once, when Fitz had complained about not ever getting any real verbal feedback.  


“Well, not particularly, but it’s still rather frustrating to pour my heart out to a mute walloper!”  


Ward had shot his eyebrows up in the air and repeated, “Walloper?”  


“Idiot.” Fitz explained, as an afterthought, before launching into another rant about how he was certain that Simmons was going to find out about his secret, “And I mean how have I kept it from her this long? She’s a genius with a 200 level IQ! Yeah, I’m definitely lucky I’ve kept it her in the dark this long-- what is it?”  


Ward was just looking at him with a slight glare and had stopped tossing the ball at the wall. “You called me a walloper.” He frowned as though betrayed.  


“Bampot, numpty, doaty, dobber, roaster, nyaff,” Fitz rattled off with a sassy flair. “Any one of those catch your fancy?”  


Ward threw the ball at him and he barely had time to duck beneath the lab table before it hit him in the face.  


***

Fitz chucked the ball a bit harder at the wall and just missed catching it. It bounced too far to the left and crashed across the top of one of the lab tables, scattering files, reports and a few odd viles across the surface and onto the floor.  


“Fitz?” He snapped around to see Simmons standing in the doorway.  


“Uhh… y-yeah?” He scrambled to pick up the reports again.  


“You alright?”  


“Yeah…” He snapped upright and slammed the folders back on the table. “What do you need?”  


She gave him and unconvinced look and said, “I assume you heard about Thomas Ward and the letter?”  


“Dillon?” Fitz asked, “Yeah...yeah I heard.”  


Ward was a bloody parent. The traitor turned out to be protecting their backends, running a three year long undercover op straight from Fury, and had a secret child to boot. How had that never come up in any of their talks? Oh that’s right, he had hogged all the time with his big fat gub.  


Ward had a bloody daughter. Yeah, he had heard. He just didn’t know what to do about it.  


“Fitz, are you sure you’re alright?” Simmons took another step into the lab.  


“What kind of question is that, Jemma?” Fitz snapped. “Huh? What kind of state am I supposed to be in? Yours? Am I supposed to be ‘alright’ about all of this just because you are?”  


“What?!” Simmons looked genuinely hurt by what Fitz said.  


“Some people are just born evil, Fitz.” He repeated her words back to her before tossing the ball back at the wall with a satisfying thunk and catching it.  


“No.” Simmons said, tears rising so quickly in her voice that he turned around in surprise. “No. You are not blaming this on me. I can’t bear it if you hold this against me. None of us knew… none of us could have known--” Her voice broke off as tears started to fall.  


“I know,” Fitz tripped over himself to get to her and wrapped his arms around her. She was full on sobbing already. There was no warming up or holding back with this woman, she just fell straight off the edge and into the deep as though she’d been waiting on the brink the entire time. “I know, I’m sorry. You’re right. None of us could have known. He was too good at what he did. I’m sorry, Jemma. I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t listen to me...just…” He sighed as he gently cupped the nape of her neck to direct her tears into his shoulder. “Don’t listen to me…”  


“How did we miss all of that?” Simmons whispered.  


Fitz shrugged gently so as not to upset where her face was nestled into his neck. “Like, you said. None of us could have known. He made sure to do all the things we couldn’t forgive him for. It was his mission. If we had known it would have blown his cover…”  


“I told him I would kill him…” She whispered.  


“Yeah, and so did I. He bloody deserved it too… Coulson did kill him, Daisy shot him four or five times in the chest, and May beat him senseless on multiple occasions. He could have stopped it all at any point, but he didn’t. ‘Cause he thought he was doing the right thing. The only one we can blame is him. How were we supposed to know?”  


“That’s ridiculous Fitz.” Simmons gave a broken little laugh.  


“You’re blaming yourself just as much as the rest of us. We should have seen it.”  


Fitz couldn’t help but agree. Although their last day with him he had tortured Simmons...he didn’t know how to rectify that one. He couldn’t. His arms tightened about her just thinking about it.  


He supposed that whatever drugs Ward was on probably affected his logical thought...and he had to admit he thought Coulson took it too far by dragging Thomas into the mix… but nothing… nothing could justify him hurting Simmons like he had. He grit his teeth. He didn’t know what he felt anymore about Ward.  


He had once been afraid of him, then he admired him. He had once loved him like a brother, then he hated him. He missed him and despised him. There just wasn’t a way to describe what he felt.  


“I’m sorry.” He whispered into Simmon’s hair that smelled like lavender and clorox. Like home in an odd sort of way.  


“What do you have to be sorry about?” Simmons mumbled, worn out from her weeping.  


“I...I don’t know. Letting him hurt you? Caving and leading them in? Blaming you. Blaming him. I’m just… I just don’t know what to do about it…” He felt his own tears begin to boil over.  


Simmons pulled away and looked up at him. “What do you mean letting him hurt me? He didn’t hurt me…”  


Fitz felt like he was choking on sand, dragging that memory back. “When we...when he… at the portal entrance he...he went in after you an he was yelling… and you started screaming--” He broke off his sentence shuddering under the sharp edge of that memory.  


“Fitz…” Simmons gave him a slightly confused look. “Fitz… Ward didn’t hurt me… Giyera did.”  


“No,” Fitz shut his eyes hard, trying to push those unbearable moments away. “No… after Giyera. When Coulson pushed him over the edge with his brother… he went in there and-- and--” Fitz could hardly breath. “You-- You kept screaming ‘no’ and crying and--” He pulled her tighter, held her harder, as though trying to convince himself that she really was safe there with him.  


“No…” Simmons pushed away a bit so she could shake her head and look him in the eye. “No, Fitz, he was telling me about all those… those awful things he was doing to you and I-- I couldn’t bear it… it was-- it was my fault… and and and… I’m so sorry.” She was leaning into him again and he would be willing to do anything to keep her there.  


“He didn’t-- But he said--”  


“He played us both, Fitz.” Simmons gave another wet laugh. “Like you said he was too good at what he did.”  


“Played us both--? He--? Bloody spy.” Fitz didn’t know if the new information changed his opinion of the man… and if it did, he wasn’t sure exactly how it did.  


“You can say that again.” A bitter chuckle shook the doorframe and the two scientists turned around it surprised to see Daisy standing there with a tired smile.  


“Daisy!” Simmons opened up her left arm to hug her friend without letting go of her hold on Fitz. Fitz laughed and opened up an arm to her as well as they pulled her into a trio-hug.  


“Welcome home!” Simmons signed, content to be wrapped up in a knot of her two best friends in the whole word.  


They stayed like that for a few seconds too long and of course it was Daisy who perked up with a,  


“Mmmkay, getting awkward now.”  


The threesome laughed and pulled away. Fitz felt something warm glow in his belly though as he looked at Daisy. She was joking again. Laughing. She didn’t look good… she looked tired and worn out. He wondered at how much sleep she got and rebutled himself quickly imagining losing Simmons. She didn’t look good, but she definitely looked better. There was a determination in her eye that glinted like steel. She’d sunk her teeth into something and she wasn’t going to let go until she won. Fitz couldn’t help but smile. It was hopeful.  


“Coulson called a meeting.” Daisy huffed as she picked up the backpack she’d dropped at the door when she entered. “We’re going to need a game plan to find her.”  


“Ward’s daughter?” Fitz asked, the hope draining out the floor and leaving him cold and dead feeling.  


“Rainey…” Simmons murmured with a heavy sigh. When the other two looked at her in confusion she added, “I overheard Coulson and May in the Conference room. Ward’s daughter is named Rainey.”  


Rainey.  


They sat there in silence again for a moment. A long moment. Daisy excused herself quietly before the sky broke.  


Rainey.

Would Have. Could Have. Should Have.


	7. No Hard Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a long time y'all! But I'm still posting slow and not so steady! ;) Here's a little bit of May's internal mess because we haven't heard much of anything about her yet. ;) Prepare thyself.

Agent May never really liked Switzerland. It was too scenic, too polite, too quaint and it’s language was too rough. Her high german was just fine, but swiss german always felt like cotton in her throat. It didn't roll from her mouth right and if her asian descent didn’t scream ‘foreigner’ enough, the roughness of her accent did. She was not accustomed to this. She could speak five languages fluently and four others conversationally with fairly convincing accents. It was just swiss german.  
Of course it had to be Switzerland that Ward left his letters. Of course. He probably fit right in here.  


She knew she wasn’t really angry about Switzerland, she was angry about how easily she’d been played, manipulated and used on every front possible. But she pretended it was Switzerland. It was easier.  


She was sitting in a little bread shop at a single seated table, eating Zopf and aged cheddar with a cup of warm milk, and watching families and couples and singles come in and buy their weekly bread. At least she could appreciate the bread here.  


She watched a young couple argue over bread quietly, and step out of the way to let the older gentleman behind them buy first as they decided.  


For some reason she couldn’t stop thinking about when Ward and her had broke up back on the bus, before the world had gone to hell. It wasn’t really much of a break up. More like a few brisk words exchanged and then silence and icy stares… but for some reason it kept coming to mind.  


It had been right after Lorelei’s attack.  


She’d woken up in the middle of the night and could tell he was awake. They were lying with their backs facing each other, but they both were measuring the other’s breaths out of habit. It was a simple awareness the two specialists counted as second nature.  


They hadn’t said anything for a long time... but May knew something needed to be said eventually. Her cracked ribs and pounding headache insisted that what had happened today need to be discussed. They’d both done a pretty good job ignoring it up to this point; ignoring the fact that they’d almost killed each other this morning… but it was still swimming between them, as was Lorelei’s accusation that Ward’s feeling weren’t for her.  


She’d already deduced that. Honestly she hadn’t expected him to put feelings into the relationship. She didn’t want him to. Then she’d have to. But to hear from Lorelei that he loved someone else… it made her gut twist uncomfortably. If he loved someone else, why was he in her bed? She had originally figured he was like her; that he loved no one at all. That’s the only reason she’d suggested this arrangement in the first place. She thought they were both unattached.  


Still she didn’t say anything, just listened to the even rhythm of his breathing and watching the wall silently.  


“I slept with her.” Ward was the one who finally spoke. “Lorelei.”  


May could tell by the dead flat tone in his voice that he wasn’t confessing this out of guilt. He was saying it just to say it. Putting it out there in the universe that he’d slept with a woman who had brainwashed him. Literally took his will and bent it to her own whim. It was a resigned tone that said the Universe didn’t care, but he might as well throw it out there anyways. Just a bit more pain and shame to add to the heap.  


May felt that uncomfortable twisting sensation as she noted how easily one could classify what happened to Ward as rape. She didn’t know what to say to that. To his admission. She didn’t know how to comfort anyone, much less the man in bed with her. She didn’t even know his favorite color, or what State he’d grown up in, or how many (if any) siblings he had and she’d been living with him for a year, sleeping with him for a month.  


She knew she should say something, inquire further to figure out if he needed help or something…he should probably talk to someone who would… know what to do… a counselor maybe? But she didn’t say anything at all.  


Ward frightened her, if she was being perfectly honest. Sometimes he seemed so solid a person. So defined and tangible and real, but sometimes she watched that version of him chip a bit and she wasn’t at all sure as to what was underneath. Pain. She knew that much. Pain atop pain atop pain.  


When a single crack split his character she found herself frightened by how sharp his gaze became, how hard and insensitive and cruel. It was so different than the warm look he offered Skye or Fitzsimmons in the lounge or the lab. It was so different from the man who argued baseball statistics with Coulson or who worked out with her in the training room. Sometimes it was so different it had her wondering which side of his was real; the warm, rule-following protector, or the cruel and broken survivor. She figured it was probably both, and that he was just trying to find a way to cope with his trauma--she did the same thing-- but she didn’t like not knowing.  


She didn’t know so much about him. She hadn’t even realized how much that unnerved her until Lorelei had thrown that variable into the equation. May knew many men who would love one woman but sleep with another… But she hadn’t thought Ward was one. She thought she knew his character and his perspective, even if she didn’t know his past. She was realizing now, she was wrong. She didn’t know anything about him at all. She didn’t like being wrong.  


Ten minutes later she murmured,  


“What did Lorelei mean?”  


“What?” Ward asked in a tone that meant he knew exactly what she was asking, but was exhausted enough to try and avoid answering.  


“About your feelings.” May watched a fly climb up the wall and tangle itself in a spiders web as she listened to Ward’s breath catch. “Do you love someone, Ward?”  


He didn’t answer. Didn’t breathe. She could feel the tension as he coiled himself tight, as though, if he contained himself tight enough, it would allow him to keep some unspeakable secret.  


“You know there’s no commitments in this right?” May informed him coolly, referring to their relationship. “No strings attached.” The fly was struggling against the sticky grip of the web.  


“There’s always strings.” Came the quiet response. A little black spider began picking its way over to the struggling prey.  


“No there aren’t.” she snapped and felt rage boil in her belly when she felt him flinch when she snapped. Why did he always have to play the victim? “Ward there are no strings. You don’t love me and I sure as hell don’t love you, so if you have ‘feelings’ for someone else, go out there and do something about it.”  


“We’re not talking about this.” His tone was sharp and biting. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything about me.”  


She felt the little flicker of whatever kind of compassion she had for him die. She was beginning to see which version of him was real and it wasn’t the warm protector. Grant Ward was easily far crueler and more accomplished than she had been at the same age. He didn’t need her and never had. She’d wasted any care she had for him in trying to confront him as gently as she knew how. He wasn’t a victim. He made victims. She thought of all the people he’d killed for Lorelei and how he’d almost killed her. It had been so fluid a transition. His personality didn’t have to change like it did for Fitz. He was a killer, brainwashing or not, and if he had to he wouldn't hesitate to kill her or any one member of there team if he felt he needed to. She was starting to see.  


“Get out of my bed.” She hissed.  


He didn’t move for a moment. He was still holding himself tightly coiled as though he was expecting her to roll over and attempt to strangle him. The thought made her inexplicably angry. He was always playing the victim and she didn’t like feeling like the abuser. She wasn’t one.  


She almost turned over to snarl at him again, but he was already sitting up and sliding out of bed, slipping a pair of pants on. Cold air stung her bare back. She kept facing the wall and watched the spider wrap it’s fly up. The warmth of the blanket fell on her back again as he pulled the covers up on the side of the bed he’d been in. She didn’t know why he did that. He wasn’t fooling her anymore.  


The door slid shut a few moments later and she once again felt a shiver slither down her spine at how quiet he was. She never heard him coming unless he wanted her to and she never heard him leave. The only other person who’d ever pulled that over her was Romanov herself. She didn’t like feeling like he had the upper hand.  


But the next morning at breakfast May had noticed how bruised Ward’s face was and that he bit back a wince every time he stood up. She thought about his own cracked ribs and the fracturing slices across his back that had been stitched up after she threw him through the glass divider on the Bus.  


Once again she felt that uneasy guilt and considered telling Coulson what Ward had confessed last night about Lorelei…Coulson was one of those people who would know what to do. He might be able to get Ward to talk about it and maybe see someone to sort through it… but she figured it wasn’t her business. If Ward wanted help he could just ask for it. She tried convincing herself that him telling her last night didn’t equate him asking for help…  


She knew she was lying to herself.  


The guilt urged her to catch his arm as he passed her through the kitchen and she said,  


“Hey, Ward, no hard feelings. Right?”  


He’d given her a blank stare as though he’d never even met her. She felt her chest tighten. He was as good at this as she was when she put her mind to masking what she was thinking. He honestly was looking at her like she was a stranger.  


“No.” he said icily. “No hard feelings.” His blank expression didn’t even twitch and he pushed past her grip.  


And that had been the end of it.  


Why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? As far as break ups go she’d had much worse.  


It probably kept coming up because she’d been with Coulson when he’d read Ward’s letter to Thomas. She’d seen the shaking handwriting and interpreted Wards vague admissions clear as day.  


It hadn’t been just Lorelei. It was Lorelei, and Garrett, and his family, (although he didn’t specify who, she figured at least Christian had if not one or both of his parents. Suddenly his fear of being returned to his brother in handcuffs didn’t make her feel satisfied anymore. It made her feel sick. Ward hadn’t thought he was ever actually going to see a trial of any kind.). She wondered if Ward saw her name when he thought of all the people who’d taken advantage of him like that.  


That hadn’t been her intent at all. But her intent didn’t necessarily equate to his perception.  


That was why she hated Switzerland now. Not really because of the language, or the culture, or the people and their interactions, but because she had this parasitic guilt and fear and hate eating away at her intestines. She still hated Ward. How was that possible? To feel guilty for how your actions might have been perceived by a man whom you hated, and still hate, with blind passion.  


“There’s always strings.”  


And she chose to collect the letters because she didn’t want to go on the rescue mission to find Ward’s daughter. She just didn’t. The thought made her feel even sicker. The others were shocked to find that Ward had a child. Baffled. They couldn’t believe they hadn’t known that about him. But it hadn’t baffled her. It was just further proof to a conclusion she’d met way back when; There was infinitely more to Grant Ward than anyone was ever going to be allowed to see. Not even the Calvary, with all her experience and perception knew nothing about him at all. He still had the upper hand.  


So she went to Switzerland and ate Zopf and cheese and glared at cute young couples arguing about what kind of bread to buy.  


She sighed and wrapped her left overs up before stuffing them in her backpack and smashing a pair of aviators on her face. She popped a chunk of gum in her mouth and plastered a cheap smile across her face. When you can’t fake the accent and sound like a local, act like a foreigner.  


She hiked across town for a couple hours just to burn energy because she was angry, so angry, and twisting internally with guilt that she still couldn’t pin down.  


The Swiss safe house on 78th was a well maintained building, built up instead of out, like most all Swiss houses. It was four stories with an attic and a pale yellow color with red geraniums blooming from window boxes. It was too pretty. Too quaint. To polite. She hated it.  


With a heavy sigh she trudged up the steps and after glancing inconspicuously over her shoulder she picked the lock easily and slipped inside.  


Someone had been keeping it up until a few weeks ago, she figured. There was only a fine layer of dust on the place and the flowers outside were still alive. She dropped her backpack on the ground and immediately began searching the place for traps cameras and bugs. She found a few and destroyed them, but kept a collection of them in a container for Fitz as requested. He might still be able to get data off of them.  


She also found a bottle of well aged wine that she fully expected to take advantage of. Later.  


It took her three hours to find the floorboards that came up. She hated Ward and Switzerland just a little bit more.  


But she found them, and pried them open and pulled out the book. It was small and a bit dusty, but it was what she’d come to Switzerland for. This was her excuse to avoid having to meet Ward’s child right away. This was her alibi.  


She sent a quick text to Coulson saying, 'package recovered.' Before slipping it open.  


The first letter was addressed to Garrett. She flipped through the first pages violently, nearly tearing them from the binding. Garrett had the upper hand as well. May and Coulson had both known him well. They’d known him and gone out to dinner with him and enjoyed his company while he had been keeping a fifteen year-old boy stranded in the wilderness at the mercy of his cruelty and abuse and they hadn’t even known. They never would have guessed. He had the upper hand, he held secrets they never would have guessed at. She hated him more that she hated Ward and Switzerland combined.  


The next letter was addressed to Couslon, then Skye whose name had been crossed out and replaced with Daisy, then Fitz, then Simmons, then May. Four in the middle had been to Kara, one for Evelyn Palamas, one for Thomas, another for Garrett (which again almost didn’t survive May’s wrath.) The last one was addressed to Rainey.  
May didn’t read any of them. Especially not hers.  


She instead opted to lean back against the cupboard walls in the kitchen and pop open the cork on the wine bottle. She hadn’t slept since she’d left the U.S. and the nine hour time difference was finally wearing the Calvary out. She ate Zopf, hard cheddar, drank very aged wine, hated Switzerland, and Ward, and strings, and abuse, and pain, and everyone who ever had the upper hand-- including herself-- and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.  


There's always strings and there’s always hard feelings.

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE REVIEW! Tell me what you think! I want to hear it all, the good the bad and the ugly. ;) Is this something that you think would be interesting to discuss in greater depth? Maybe his perspective as a triple as major events happened? Or how each of the team takes it? Or...something else? Or should I just leave it as complete? Tell me what you think. PLEASE! :) Love you all, dear readers.
> 
> Kudos!
> 
> -D.


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